There's Something About Sam
by avalondutch
Summary: Sam Evans has had a hard life. So when he loses his job it is all too easy to take up male escorting as a way to earn big money. But when the stakes are raised, he finds himself risking more to get ahead, threatening his freedom, his relationships and his own life. How far will he take things before it all goes wrong?


**Hi guys! Sooo this is my first fanfic in a very long time and it is also my first for Glee. Hope you guys enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Glee. I wouldn't know how to clean up that mess if I did.**

**~Avalon**

* * *

_Sam didn't know where he was, but he was certain he had been here before. The air was deathly cold and he wrapped his bare arms around him as he assessed his whereabouts. Everywhere around him was black, as if the sun had been plucked out of the solar system. He shivered. If he had been here before, why was it so dark? And how did he get here? He walked a couple of paces, hoping that the scenery would change._

"_Hello?" he yelled, hoping he would get someone else's attention. Immediately he realized that this might have been a bad idea. For some reason he got the impression that wherever he was, it was not a happy place, and he should be wary. A cold front passed through him and Sam shook with cold and terror. He wished he could get out of there. Suddenly, he felt someone—or something—enter his presence._

"_Sam," a voice whispered in his ear. Sam jumped back and swatted at the space where he assumed the being to be but his hand only met the shock of cold air._

"_Who's there?" he called. There was silence. Sam looked around frantically, looking for the being that said his name, but to no avail. It was too dark to see anything._

"_Sam, it's me," the voice whispered in his ear. Sam froze. He knew there was no use in running. There was nowhere to go._

"_Who are you?" he called out._

"_It's me…your life," said the voice._

"_My life?" said Sam. He was thoroughly confused. "What do you want?"_

"_You're losing me, Sam," the voice continued. It sounded farther away and for some reason Sam began to feel empty._

"_Losing you? What do you mean? Where am I?" he begged. He was growing anxious as he shivered uncontrollably._

"_Find me. Get me back."_

_Sam could barely hear the voice now. It sounded more like a rustling in the wind than an instruction but he had heard it and he wanted it to come back. It was a need he could not explain._

"_Don't go!" he yelled, but it was too late. He was left in the cold, treacherous darkness._

Sam Evans groaned as his alarm clock buzzed harshly in his ear. Reaching his night table, he slammed down on the despised object and rolled over. He was still shivering like he had been in his dream and he realized that he was drenched in cold sweat. The dream had spooked him, and he was almost relieved to have woken up. Something told him that he should pay more attention to what the voice had said, but never one to be concerned with trivial things like dreams, he shrugged it off and sat up. When his feet hit the cheap, carpeted floor, he looked around at his surroundings and frowned. The small bedroom he slept in was nothing to be proud of. At one time the walls must have been a brilliant white but now they were so smeared with dirt and other buildup from over the years that now they were a dingy beige. The radiator must have stopped working overnight so it was chilly. He rolled his eyes. He supposed we would have to file another complaint to his landlord.

Getting up, he made his way across the room and out the door, travelling down the hall to his siblings' room. Opening the door slowly, he sighed at the two young children sleeping soundly in their small beds. They must have been tired—the tenants in the apartment next door had been arguing well into the night and they had had trouble getting to sleep. Sam wished he could give the kids a better life, one with a quieter place to live and their own rooms, and possibly two parents that loved them and could provide for them. His father had left them after his little sister was born and his mother had died in a traffic accident back in January of that year. After that, Stevie, age eleven and Stacey, age nine had to move in with Sam. He tried to give his brother and sister all that they needed but he was failing miserably. On top of that he sensed that his siblings really didn't have much respect for him. After all, who would have respect for a broke 22-year-old anyway?

Sam almost didn't want to wake them up for school. If it were up to him, he would give them the day off and let them rest. But then he'd have to go through the trouble of finding someone to watch them while he worked, and besides, their social worker, Mr. Shuester, would frown upon that kind of behavior.

"Guys, time to get up," he said as he walked further into the room. Stevie stirred, burrowing his head farther under the covers.

"Five more minutes," the boy said. Sam shook his head.

"No, you need to get up, bud," he said. Stevie groaned but made no move to get up. "Come on," Sam said a little more sternly.

"No," said Stevie.

Sam sighed. This was a daily morning ritual in the Evans household and everyday Sam grew wearier from it. Taking two handfuls of covers, he ripped them down, exposing his brother to the cold air.

"Are you kidding me?" said Stevie, balling himself up in order to keep warm.

"Get up and go wash up," said Sam.

Stevie glared up at his brother before finally rolling out of bed and lumbering down the hall to the bathroom. When Sam heard the bathroom door close, he walked over to his sleeping sister.

"Stacey," he whispered softly. He sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked the girl's long cornstarch blond hair. She reminded him so much of his mother that sometimes it pained him to look at her. "Stace, it's time to get up."

Stacey rolled over and looked up at him.

"I'm tired," she said softly. Sam smiled.

"I know you are. You can take a nap when you get home," he said. Stacey grunted and then kicked the covers off of her. "Why don't you pick out your clothes while Stevie's in the bathroom?"

Stacey shrugged and hopped out of bed, walking over to the small closet where they kept their clothes. Satisfied that she too would not throw a fit about having to get up, Sam went back into his own room. Looking at the clock, he saw that it read seven thirty, which meant that he had half of an hour to get ready, give the kids breakfast and get them on the bus before he had to travel to his shoot at nine o'clock. He was supposed to get up at seven, how long had his alarm clock been ringing?

He rummaged through his drawers and pulled out a pair of jeans and a crisp white tee shirt that he had to sniff to make sure it was clean. He really had to do laundry if he ever found the time. While Stevie and Stacey moved back and forth from the bathroom to their bedroom, Sam walked to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. He groaned as he realized that the sink was piled high with dishes. He had meant to do them when he got home last night, but he was so tired he completely forgot. After finding some Eggo waffles in the freezer, he popped them into the toaster and washed some dishes off. By the time he was done, Stevie and Stacey were walking groggily into the kitchen.

"Eggo's again?" Stacey whined as she plopped down at the small, round table. Sam rolled his eyes.

"It's all we have Stacey, please don't complain," he said. Stacey pouted, but remained quiet as a plate with two waffles was placed in front of him. Stevie also grumbled but thankfully he didn't voice his disdain. "When you're done eating, hurry up and get your things together, okay? We're running a little late this morning.

While the kids ate, Sam rushed into the shower. Thankful for the time to himself, he closed his eyes as the lukewarm water beat down on him. He wished it was hotter, but in this building, semi-warm water was considered a blessing. Aware that he only had a limited amount of time, he quickly stepped out and wrapped a towel around his torso. Looking in the mirror, he examined himself. He was considered a good-looking guy, which was why he was hired at one of New York's premiere modeling agencies, the House of Bichette. Lately, however, he felt that his general well-being was declining. After his mother died, he had taken on an immense amount of responsibility that came with a lot of stress, and it reflected on his person. He looked tired, and he had dropped more pounds from his already lean physique. The owner of the agency, Bichette said that he was now looking too thin, after she had told him that he was too fat. Sam didn't really know what to do with himself anymore. Nothing he did for that woman was right. She claimed that he had been slacking on his assignments and that he wasn't producing the results she was looking for when she had hired him at age eighteen. This photo shoot today for a Macy's catalog was his chance to show her that he could still give her what she wanted.

Running out of the bathroom and into his room, he got dressed. The clock read 7:50, meaning that he was right on schedule. When he walked back out into the kitchen, Stevie was watching television in the tiny living room and Stacey was looking for something.

"C'mon guys, we gotta go. Stace what are you looking for?" he asked. Stacey lifted up her left leg.

"I can't find my other shoe," she said. Sam groaned. This was just what he needed.

"Where was the last place you put it?" he asked. Stacey shrugged.

* * *

It took nearly ten minutes to locate Stacey's shoe, which had somehow ended up in a kitchen cabinet. He ushered the kids out of the house and down the long Brooklyn block, only to find out that they had missed their bus. The next one was to come in fifteen minutes. Sam tried not to display his impatience but he just couldn't understand why they could never be on time. Finally another bus pulled up and he watched the kids get on with barely a goodbye. It kind of hurt that they didn't really pay him any mind, but he didn't have time to think about it as he ran to the subway stop.

Sam slid through the G train doors right on time, and he breathed a sigh of relief knowing he was almost home free. The ride into the city from Brooklyn usually took about forty-five minutes with the transfer, so he would just make it to the building. He found a seat next to an old woman who smelled like mothballs and briefly shut his eyes. About two stops from where he had to get off to transfer there was a loud bang and the piercing sounds of train wheels skidding to a halt on the tracks. It stopped with a thud and Sam flew into the old woman, earning him a harsh glare as if he had purposely done it. He was about to apologize when a conductor's voice came through on the loudspeaker.

"Uh, sorry about this, folks. We're going through some technical difficulties right now," the voice said in a muffled voice. There was an uproar from the commuters in Sam's car. "We're trying to fix the problem now so just sit tight and we'll try to have you out of here within the half hour."

Sam's eyes widened. A half hour? He couldn't afford to be on this train for another three minutes, let alone another thirty. Panicking, he checked his cell phone to see if he had any service. Maybe he could call the agency and tell them he would be late. There were zero bars on his phone.

"Shit," he mumbled. What the hell was he going to do? The other passengers were angry as well but he paid them no mind. There had to be a way to get off this train. He searched the car for anyone who might be able to help, and jumped up when he spotted one of the conductors.

"Excuse me," he said as he pushed through people to get to her. "I really need to get off this train." The woman looked at him patronizingly.

"We all do, sweetie. Don't worry, they're fixing the problem now," she said. She turned around to leave but Sam maneuvered his way in front of her.

"But you don't understand, I have to get to work, my job is on the line—"

"So's mine and the rest of the people on this damn train!" shouted a large man from the corner. Sam ignored him.

"Can't you just open the doors and let us out?" he suggested. The woman shook her head.

"No can do. The doors are on auto lock and the system has shut down. There's no way we can open them," she said.

"But I can't be here!" Sam shouted in desperation. The conductor narrowed her eyes at him and set her jaw.

"Look here kid, no one wants to be on this train right now. I'm sorry that your life seems so much more important than everyone else's but you need to get a grip and sit the hell down before I get the NYPD to carry you away once those doors open. Got it?" she said. Sam glared at her, pushing his way past her and walking back to his seat. As if things couldn't get any worse, someone had taken the seat he had once occupied, and he was forced to stand up, looking longingly out of the window to the platform where freedom lay.

* * *

It took an hour for the train to be up and running again. By the time the wheels were set in motion, Sam's hysterics had turned into defeated hopelessness, and he slumped against a wall, wishing that he were dead. When he finally got to the studio where the shoot was taking place, it was ten o'clock. He crept in silently, praying that no one would reprimand him. A few wardrobe and makeup people passed him, wondering what he was doing there. He touched one of them on the arm to get her attention.

"Excuse me," he said as politely as he could. "I'm one of the models. Can you tell me where I go for wardrobe?" before the young woman could answer him, a shrill voice rang in his ears.

"Samuel Evans!" it cried. Sam groaned as the woman quickly left his side. He turned around to see Debra, Bichette's assistant walking angrily toward him.

"Okay, before you get mad, I can explain," he said. Debra, a young woman with short, auburn hair and a very pointy nose raised an eyebrow.

"Oh there's no need to explain, Sam. I already was laid into by Bichette about your absence. Do you know how much damage you've caused? Gavin had to take over your first two scenes and it threw everything off," he said.

"I'm really sorry, but the train I was on had trouble and they wouldn't let us off and—" Debra put a hand up so that he could stop talking.

I would love to hear your little sob story but Bichette wants you to go to her office immediately," she said. Sam shook his head vigorously. Going to meet Bichette could only mean trouble.

"Debra, please. I'm here now, just let me do the shoot, okay? Please," he begged. Debra shook her head.

"What's done is done, and we've already made other arrangements. You need to leave the premises and go see Bichette," she said. She turned around to leave but stopped and tilted her head back toward him. "Goodbye, Sam." And with that she walked away.

Sam stomped his foot angrily, running a hand through his hair in distress as he watched the other models pose for the camera. As he walked out of the studio, he couldn't help but feel that that "goodbye" was less of a goodbye for now, and more of a goodbye to life as he knew it.

* * *

**Well, there you go. I know it seemed a little rushed and perhaps a bit blah but I just wanted to set up Sam's general situation and the start of his troubles. Should I continue? Reviews would be extremely appreciated!**

**P.S. Did you guys see the season finale? I'm still processing my thoughts on it.**


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